Son of a Gun

Part Two

 

by Velvetglove

 

 

 

They waited the necessary few minutes until Rufus had regained consciousness. By which time however, he had been tied between two sturdy wooden posts that the carpenter had buried deep into the sand.

His own clothes had been ripped from his pale body and then strips of rags torn from them, soaked in seawater, were used to tie his wrists and ankles to the posts, leaving him spread eagled and totally naked. His shrivelled penis hung down limply in a tangle of ginger hair.

Next to him, his screaming, frantic, 21 year old sister Rose was tied in exactly the same dire predicament, except that the strips tying her had also been made of her dear brother’s clothes. She had been left wearing her creased and soiled dress. For now.

Meanwhile, Lady Helen, was staked out in an ‘x’ on the sand, her delicate wrists and ankles tied to four wooden pegs, and her upturned, sobbing face was almost directly underneath her husband’s widespread feet. Her feet were near the fire so that its crackling warmth and light could cast a special glow on the forthcoming event.

Wallis finished chewing casually on a rabbit bone and gestured for his men to all kneel in the sand either side of Lady Helen, so close they could reach out and touch her when the moment was right. They arranged themselves so as to leave two gaps, one for the flickering firelight to pass through, and the other to allow Sir Rufus an unencumbered view.

Wallis wandered over to Lady Helen’s husband, leaning into his ear.

“I’m not an unreasonable man … Rufus.” He made a point of leaving off the man’s title. “Back home was your world. But this is my island, and so you will learn to call me King Wallis. And on my island, we all share and share alike. So, when you want to share your wife with us, you can. But from now on you rank the lowest of all the males here.”

Wallis looked round and smiled. “Yes, even lower than young Grommet there, the Ship’s Lad. Once he’s had his regular daily turn on your missus, if you ask nicely, you can follow him. Is that understood ?”

Wallis paused calmly to wipe the saliva off his face. Rufus had turned his head and spat a thick, insolent wad.

He shrugged. “You will regret that, I assure you. You see, I only brought a few things off the ship with me. But one of them is being held by my mate Greaser there.”

The gormless and disfigured crewman held up a six feet long, leather ‘cat ’o nine tails’.

“So I shall fuck your missus and, when I’m through, then I’ll flog a little sense into you while we both watch our friends here enjoying a little party.”

 

Wallis took his time gutting every last shred of dress and undergarment from Helen. She wailed and cried, and twisted and writhed, as all around her hungry male faces grinned down. Hands and fingers curled out round her young and perfect, ample breasts as they flopped and jerked, while foul breath enveloped her face and nostrils.

Wallis splayed open her labia with his left hand, lifting his index finger to taste. She was salty from washing in seawater.

Salty and tight.

It had been a long time since he had fucked anyone so young and never so fancy and flawless.

He was 44. Never married although he had a couple of ‘wives’ in ports he no longer visited. A sailor’s life was not suited to romance and he had spent more evenings with loose women and even looser whores than he cared to remember. Maybe it was time to settle down ?

In truth, it was Rose, the other lass he preferred, more for her demure attitude and manner than any advantage in looks. Both women were lovely.

He could tell this one had barely been fucked.  Probably a virgin right until her wedding night. Her mound was covered in a pretty triangle of brown hair, her tender flesh brackish, soft and sandy; her cunt bone dry.

He let a drool of his saliva curl down from between his moustache and beard to land between her thighs. Then he sensuously worked the fingers of his left hand to smear it up inside her.

Finally, taking a moment to grin up at Rufus, he crouched over her and eased his stiff, engorged helmet into the entrance to her cunt. It had been a long frustrating voyage after Lisbon and especially since the moment he had watched this minx in her cabin with her husband.

The crew’s raucous cheer was even louder than the terrible wails and groans from all three passengers as Wallis plunged his arse downwards and sunk himself up to the hilt inside her mutinous but helpless flesh.

 

*** *** ***

 

“Where do you reckon they come from ?” Misty asked.

We were sat on our balcony, staring out at the sea and sky, two virtually identical shades of blue, one sparkling, the other cloudless.

“You know,” she continued, “your dominant drive, my sub feelings.”

It was a question we’d touched on a few times in the past, in different ways, never probing too deep. I’m no psychoanalyst. I mean, it’s interesting, in a way, but ultimately no more significant than why I prefer wine to whisky or big tits to poached eggs. We all are who we are. She liked to ask a lot of questions. I liked to humour her. For a while.

“Nature or nurture.” I replied, sipping my coffee. “I suspect it’s a bit of both. I must have been born with a natural predisposition to sexual dominance and I expect things in my life have developed that innate urge more fully. Not that I’ve a damn clue what those things were. Same for you, in reverse, I guess.”

She was silent a moment, enjoying the sunny South African morning and endless horizon. I caught her lovely profile, with classic bone structure and a delicate jaw, softly framed by her mane of hair, tumbling over the towelling white robe she was wearing.

“But have you ever thought if your parents were the same ? Or one of them ? Or a grandparent ? Maybe my grandma desperately wanted to be spanked, say, and be forced to give sluttish blowjobs.”

I chuckled, enjoying her laughter as much as the idea.

“Do you know much about your ancestors, Ben ?” she asked.

I shrugged, ignoring her cheeky use of my nickname.

“No more than I’ve told you before, really. We are originally Scottish or English. Apparently Gunn is a name that exists in both countries. And Norway too, for that matter. But somebody emigrated to South Africa in the middle of the last century. It was only during apartheid that my parents moved back to UK, where I was born.”

She took my coffee cup and got up to refill it.

“There you are.” She replied triumphantly. “Somebody ! You said somebody emigrated to South Africa. It’s strange how the most important people in the world to us are our own children, our parents, our grandchildren and grandparents. Yet travel just a few generations forwards or back and we don’t give them any thought. I mean, your great-great-grandparents, say, and you don’t know anything about them, or care !”

I looked at her. Her robe had slipped open revealing a tit.

“Don’t worry.” She continued, sitting back down. “I’m the same. That’s the problem with the future though. Things like Government Debt and Global Warming. If it were our own great-grandchildren we specifically thought about having to pay for our current borrowing or pollution, we’d care more. Yet somehow just a few generations ahead and our  bloodline ceases being important to us. A few generations back and we don’t care what terrible things might have happened to our forbears.”

I looked at her again. I had other things on my mind. She was correct. Go back 150, 200 years and, right, I didn’t give a shit. But she was on a roll. Only one way to shut her up.

I pulled my robe apart. I was rock hard.

She was about to continue her diatribe. Her green eyes glanced down and she didn’t speak. Her mouth made an empty ‘pop’ as the word died in her throat. We had a rule. 

She jumped out of her chair as elegantly as a cat and dropped to the balcony floor at my feet, her head rubbing gently against my inner thighs.

I felt my guts churning the breakfast I’d eaten and coffee I’d drunk.

But I slapped my erection against her cheek.

Time to see exactly how much my girlfriend wanted me.

 

*** *** ***

 

Rufus hung in his bonds, his chin lolling forwards onto his chest. By the standards of the mid-nineteenth century fleet, it had not been a brutal flogging. But a cat is a cat and, applied to the soft flesh of an aristocrat, it was highly effective.

The crew laughed as the lashes soon changed the arrogant passenger’s tune; one minute cursing and blinding them, the next sobbing and begging them to do as they all they wished with his lovely lady.

Wallis gave him ‘nine nines’ across the back; nine strokes with nine tails based on the trinity of trinities that all good Christian sailors considered a harbinger of good fortune, then a further three strokes across his front. With his back shredded, the vicious leather opened up the young man’s stomach, groin and genitals ensuring that it would be weeks before he could bear to touch himself there, even for the purposes of his own relief.

Meanwhile, in keeping with the numeric symmetry, the hapless Helen endured nine fucks. Her own ‘trinity of trinities’. After Wallis had finished with her, the other eight crewmembers lustily followed him. It is likely that, in different circumstances, one or two of the individual men might not have so dishonoured a lady. But a combination of mob mentality, certain death if they objected, and the appetite engendered by a long sea voyage, overcame any misgivings they might have felt. The last to go was young Grommet, the embarrassed but visibly excited Ship’s Lad.

“Another round ?” Greaser asked Wallis afterwards with a leer.

The ugliest member of the engine crew had insinuated himself into the position of Wallis’s deputy. He was sinewy but strong, with puckered skin down one side of his face and torso, from an engine fire many years earlier. He looked stupid yet had uneducated cunning.

“Help yourself.” Wallis replied, shrugging. “She has to learn to satisfy all her new ‘husbands’ properly so she might as well start now.”

“What about the other lass ?” Greaser nodded at Rose.

Wallis turned. “King’s privilege, my friend. For a while.”

Greaser made a disapproving face with his skewed lips turned down, as if to object, but catching sight of Wallis’s glare, he merely grinned.

“Suppose there’s no problem us all sharing just one woman if she can’t ever say no.”

Wallis nodded magnanimously.

 

The first round had been a quick gang rape; an impatient flurry of dick after dick buried in the increasingly soupy mixture between Helen’s parted thighs, punctuated by frantic grunts, groans, moans and ‘aaahhhs’.

Steadily all resistance was pounded out of her and she lay deadpan in her bonds, mouth gasping quietly for breath like a landed fish dying on deck, eyes glazing over.

The second round was more leisurely. Relieved of their heavy loads, the men were able to enjoy it more, encouraging each other, patient and good humoured, as each casually took his turn. The only thing missing was a keg of rum. This time they were gentler too, taking their weight on their elbows, allowing Helen to breathe, although she appeared only half-conscious in the firelight. They drove their erections into her at different speeds and angles, cheered on by their mates, in the misguided impression that somehow their skills could make the act more enjoyable for the young lady.

Eventually she became so sodden and slack that the last few men could not get sufficient purchase to reach orgasm. After some frustrated banging away the men climbed astride her chest and masturbated themselves over her face, hair and into the sand.

After the second round had finished and each man curled up round the fire to sleep, they left her tied in an ‘x’, with a blanket thrown over her. During the night, several times, various men woke and took their third turn with the woman who had once been Lady Helen Rigby.

 

The next morning, she was marched naked down to the sea to wash in the salty breakers. Greaser had knotted a rope round her neck and he held her like a bitch on a leash as she wiped her body clean as best she could.

Next she was put to work. She was made to perform the menial duties around the shelter and camp; clearing up the bones and detritus from the evening meal and arranging the pile of wood into a new campfire for later.

The men also washed themselves in the sea, hunted and cut trees, but they still had time for lying under palm fronds and relaxing.

Greaser used his knife to carve a rota into the trunk of a tree; each notch represented an hour’s segment of the day. He cut nineteen notches to represent eighteen ‘one hour slots’. The remaining six hours of darkness were reserved for Helen to sleep.

Each man drew twigs of different lengths to rank them in order. Then, the nine of them chose one available ‘early slot’ from dawn to early afternoon, and one ‘late slot’ from afternoon to midnight.

As soon as the rota had been finished and initials carved into the palm tree, the brass ship’s clock was placed under it as the official timepiece.

With a whoop, Limey Jack clicked his fingers at Helen to let her know she was his ‘wife’ for the remainder of that hour.

She wailed in despair and started to shiver, then beg, to no avail.

Fucking was all very well but Limey had a penchant for a woman’s mouth. Using a clump of her hair as a handle and his other palm to slap encouragement into her face, he taught her the rudiments of oral sex.

It was only the first of many times Helen would learn that lesson.

Naturally, it had been a long time since most of the crew had visited Senhora Amizade’s friendly bordello in Lisbon during the stopover. Her raddled putas were experienced and cheap but they didn’t compare with the lovely young English aristocrat who was inexperienced and free.

For many women coping with one horny husband is a challenge enough. But life for Helen was to become one long relay race. No sooner had she satisfied the amorous attentions of one of her admirers, than another rigid baton full of stamina was lovingly placed in her palm.

 

Meanwhile, that first morning, Rufus hung where he had been tied, in the searing midday sun. The rays had broiled his pale skin to a bright lobster red. Saltwater had been used to cleanse his wounds and now his lips were parched and cracked. In agony, he had croaked his eternal allegiance to ‘King Wallis’ who was considering his apology, along with that of his younger sister Rose’s.

Wallis himself was lying under a shady tree, a few hundred yards from the rest of the camp. He had begun to create his own ‘King’s Quarters’ separate from the main camp. He had a good view of Rufus, and of the crew enjoying themselves with Helen. But the view that particularly interested him at that moment was only a few feet away.

Rose Rigby, fiancé of Major Seaton, hung by her delicate wrists from the horizontal branch of a gnarled baobab tree. She was naked except for her creased and soiled dress and, underneath it, her drawers.

Wallis lay whittling a long stick into a cane with his knife. The cat was good for the likes of Rufus but the ladies required a more subtle instrument. Eventually the thirty inches long cane had been trimmed to his satisfaction.

He stood up and planted his feet directly in front of her. He was naked but for a torn shirt he had fashioned into a loin cloth round his ample girth.

“Rose. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, my dear.”

She whimpered, seemingly too terrified to speak.

“Cat got your tongue ?” he smiled. “The cat certainly took away your brother’s tongue.”

“Please …”

He raised his knife to the top of her dress. Her breasts were smaller than Helen’s but not by much. The pleated fabric crushed them together exaggerating her cleavage.

“One way, you get to be a Queen.” He said. “The other, a whore.”

“No. Please. I beg you Sir …”

He grinned, revealing his stained and gapped teeth. “Well, that’s a start, lass. You’ll be doing plenty of begging whichever way.”

With a skilled twist of his blade he popped the top button of her dress and opened up a breach. With barely a pause, he carved downwards slicing the fabric to her navel.

“Let’s have a look shall we ?”

He tucked the knife in his belt and seized each side of her dress with his hands, then tore it asunder, unleashing her tits like oranges from a knocked over basket.

“Noooooo.” Tears sprang from her eyes.

He stood back to admire her perfection. As he suspected. For his taste, better even than the Helen bitch.

He drew his knife and touched the sharp point to her left tit. The shock focused her attention, dried her eyes. She gawped at him.

“That’s better. Now, I want some answers.”

Slowly, she exhaled and nodded.

“Are you a maiden, lass ?”

She stared, then her eyes closed. He pushed slightly on the knife and they fluttered open.

“A maiden. I shall make myself clear. Are you a virgin ?”

She nodded.

“Are you just a legal virgin or the real thing, lass ? Have you ever had any form of sexual relations with any man ? Have you touched a male organ with your fingers or mouth or any part of your body ?”

Wide-eyed, she looked at him and nodded again.

“The real thing ?”

She stayed nodding, confirming his dearest wish.

“Your fiancé was a patient man.” Wallis observed with a smirk. “Just holding hands and maybe a stolen kiss, right ?”

Flushing crimson, Rose bit her lip and nodded.

Wallis let his knife wander down her skin and then he carved open another length of her dress until it was splayed to the top of her drawers.

With a fierce wrench he opened it up completely until the fabric was in two separate pieces and it fell into the sand, puddled at her feet. She stood, arms above her head, in just the off-white undergarment around her middle.

Phew. Wallis exhaled with approval and lust. Her waspish waist and porcelain skin were perfect. She had the kind of curved but slim body that made one wonder exactly where a large erection was going to fit once it was inside her.

“Please, Sir, do not treat me so. I am engaged. I … please …”

Wallis guffawed. “Yes, my dear, you certainly are engaged.”

He gently eased the hem of her undergarment down over her hips until her mound was revealed, then peeled it over the top of her thighs, before a flash of his knife sliced the fabric in two and he tore it off to reveal her complete nakedness.

“Dadaah !” he said, like a conjurer finishing a trick.

Rose stood in stripped despair, eyes rimmed with tears.

He showed her his stubby left middle finger, licked it in front of her eyes, then lowered and inserted it between her downy-haired cunt lips.

“Tell me, lass, do you ever masturbate ? You know, diddle yourself.”

She edged back as best she could, avoiding his probing digit. “Nnagh !”

“No ? Really ?”

“Never S… Sir. I assure you, on my mother’s honour, I would never do such a thing.”

Mercilessly, Wallis pushed his finger upwards until she could resist no more and he penetrated her to the second knuckle. Two inches or so.

He grinned and leaned forward to nuzzle her tit in his mouth, clutching her round the bottom with his right hand, pulling her to him.

“Aaahhh … nooo … please …” she wailed again.

Impatient, he pulled his left hand from her cunt and slapped her across the face, then a backhander that split her lip.

Her head spun and she gasped but then she suddenly became silent.

“That’s better.” He announced. “As I said, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Your marriage is off, young lady. I don’t know if you have noticed but you are stuck on a desert fucking island. You are no longer engaged to your stupid army officer. You are now engaged to me. Fucking King of this fucking island !! Got that ?” he roared into her face. She winced at his rage and foul breath.

“And I’m not bloody well satisfied with holding hands and pecking your cheek, miss. Your have a choice. Now ! Either you will willingly make love to me, your King and husband, as often and whichever way I like. Or you will unwillingly be fucked by me and my men as often and however we like. Do I make myself fucking clear ? Those are your two options. Decide now.”

She shook her head, trying to clear it, attempting to understand what she had just heard, the awful language and dreadful images.

He picked up the cane her had prepared earlier.

“I think a bare breasted whipping will concentrate your mind wonderfully.”

His erection had loosened the loin cloth he had fashioned round his gut. Unashamed, Wallis tore it off so that he stood as naked as his ‘fiancé’ and she could see the manhood he was offering to pleasure her with.

“No, I beg you kind Sir, have mercy …”

The whip hissed with a whoosh through the sultry air and then smacked loudly across her flat stomach.

It took only four strokes before she was wailing, shrieking, begging, offering herself as wife, mistress, whore, whatever.

But Wallis was in a grim mood now. The cane rose and descended in a fearful barrage across her upper legs, thighs, abdomen, ribs and breasts. No blood was drawn, no flesh torn, but the light cane turned her skin a deep crimson as it seared a livid memory into Rose’s mind forever.

Then, before she had realised what was happening, he was stood directly in front of her, lifting her firm buttocks in his palms, jabbing his swollen erection between her thighs.

She gave one last heartrending wail and then gasped as he penetrated, hitching her into a more comfortable position for him, up on her toes. Two of his fingers penetrated her anus and he shoved them deep. A heck of a way for a lass to lose her maidenhead.

He was so ready, so full, the feeling so good, that it took only a few moments before he released his seed and properly consummated their union.

 

END OF PART TWO